border, surmounted by a bishop's miter, surrounding text with depictions of emblems of Death  
AN ELEGY, ON Doctor Sancroft, Arch Bishop of Canterbury.  

ROuse up my Sluggish Muse, awake from Sleep,  
And Summons all true Hearts to mourn and weep,  
For now the Churches Wound is very deep.   

Sancroft's no more, that is a dismal Sound,  
His Pear I fear is now not to be found,  
Were we to Search the Universe quit Round.   

This is the worst of news that's come to Town,  
Since Abosolom did Seize his Father's Crown,  
And all the Rules of Justice did put Down.   

Let Church, and Altars, all be hung with Black,  
Let her true Sons Lament and cry a lack,  
Our Sins have caused God to turn his back.   

He hid his Face, and says he will not hear.  
The Wicked when they Cry and make their Prayer,  
England's destruction than draws near I fear.   

A King Deposed, our Holy Highpriest Dead,  
A Famine Reigns far worse than that of Bread,  
Such Judgements must strike all with fear and dread.   

Oh! Barbarous and Cruel, ridged, Fate,  
Three Kingdoms Mourn for what ye've done of late,  
In plucking down the Prop, of Church and State.   

Sancroft, the Pious, Learned, Wise, and Good,  
When Hell broke loose, and Treason like a Flood,  
Did Loyalty o'er whelm, he bravely Stood.   

When for the Storm no Ship could Safely Ride,  
When the Winds and Waves did Roar on every side,  
He like a Skilful Pilot Stemmed the Tide.   

And like a House that's built upon a Rock,  
Unshaken and unmoved, he bore the Shock;  
And like a Faithful Shepherd, fed his Flock.   

When to be Loyal, Honest, Just, and True,  
Was such a Crime, that Thousands from it flew;  
He gave to God, and Caesar, both their dew.   

He no man wronged, nor to his Dissolution,  
Nothing could shake his Heavenly Resolution,  
Or make him own this Cursed Revolution.   

But for the rest, I mean, the Purjured train,  
They God, the King, and Truth forsake for gain,  
But to all Three, he firmly did Remain.   

Tho he knew well, in a short time he must,  
From his High Holy Office down be thrust,  
In Spite of danger still, he would be Just.   

Just to himself to God and to his King,  
Nor could the World him temp to do a thing,  
That would a Scandal on Religion bring.   

All that I've said is not the Thousand part,  
Of what is true and due to his Desert,  
Who had a Godlike Soul, and Dovelike Heart.   

No Gall or Guile within him could be found,  
An Israelite indeed whose Faith was sound;  
His Hope and Charity did much a bound.   

Like to his Lord he did forgive his Foes,  
And whilst he lived he prayed, even for those,  
That did his Master and himself Depose.   

And for those Shepherds who had led a stray,  
The harmless Sheep, he constantly did Pray,  
That Heaven would turn 'em back to the right way.   

His Piety was Great, his Courage, Brave,  
Skilful in all things, but how to Deceive,  
These Virtues all he Carried to his Grave.   

Oh! there he's gone! he's gone! and with all,  
That's truly good or we could Virtues call;  
Here I must Stop, to let a Tear down fall,   

A Tear, were there a Fountain in each Eye,  
Of Springing waters I would weep 'em dry,  
As justly dwe to Sancroft's, Obsequy.   

He was the Chief and best of Priests indeed,  
What Eye won't shed a Tear, what Heart won't bleed  
When they his mournful Elegy shall Read.!    

His Epitaph.  

ALl Loyal Souls, when you draw near  
This Holy place, pray drop a Tear,  
For Sacred Sancroft's Trunk lies hear.   

That is the same it was at First,  
From Earth it came and so it must,  
Again Return, and be made Dust.   

But for his Holy Pious Soul,  
'Twas found Registered in Heavens Roul,  
And there 'tis gone without Control.   

In spite of all Hell's Crew, Accursed,  
He now does Triumph with the Just,  
For being Faithful to his Trust.